Anne
by starpalimpsest
Summary: What if Anne had been born as Anne de Valois, the Princess of France?
1. One

Anne de Valois had been selected to wed Henry Tudor when she was still a little girl; when she was nothing more than a mere lord's daughter. It had been a simple, undeniable fact she had been forced to live with for what felt like most of her life. It didn't, however, mean she had to like any part of that decision. After all, her father hadn't consulted her when he had agreed to the betrothal and had simply expected her to be happy about it just because she was going to wed a prince one day.

But if anybody had even bothered to ask her about her opinions, she would have told them straightforwardly how she'd much rather marry a mere bastard than let a scandalous man like Henry Tudor onto her bed. Even as far away from France, Anne heard all sorts of rumors about her future husband. Rumors that didn't help in the slightest to plant even slightly positive image of him in her head. Which was probably why Anne had escaped from the safety of her room into the marketplace, to let herself forget about the troubles that were to come upon her time to head to England to wed and perform her womanly duties as was only expected due to her position as a princess, sister to the King of France.

It had already been bad enough she was a nobleman's daughter as well as a woman in the world filled with all-knowing, arrogant men whose only purpose seemed to serve in the fact they tended to make her life worse than they already were, but her brother just had to become the fucking King of France because apparently, other options were not to be allowed.

And despite how much happy she had been at first at the prospect of her brother sitting on that throne and wearing that golden crown, Anne's excitements had dulled over time with how less of a time Francis started spending with her now that he had a whole country to take care of. In her most humble opinion, it simply wasn't worth it all.

Anne sighed deeply under her breath as she stalked down the street, just in the time to catch an eye of a very familiar looking uniformed man starting to walk her way. A member of Francis' guardsmen. Anne involuntarily cursed under her breath — she still had places to be, people to meet before she was to head off back home — as she turned on her heel and started walking with an appropriate speed given her current predicament — it wouldn't be wise for her to just break off into a run; it might just backfire on her — as she forced on a small smile upon her face, bidding the good people of France as she stalked down the marketplace quite hurriedly.

Suddenly, someone stepped in front of her to block her escape and growling frustratingly within, while still smiling politely back at him, Anne lifted her head to greet him. _"Monsieur."_ She resisted the urge to grit her teeth because that would be unseemly, and not at all appropriate for a woman of her position.

"Your Royal Highnesses, King Francis had requested your presence in the throne room," The man told her authoritatively and Anne resisted the urge to remind just whom exactly he was talking with here. She was a fucking princess! Not some daughter of a peasant. He couldn't talk to her as if she were beneath him. If anything, he was the one who was beneath her royal self.

"Is that so?" She grinned at him pleasantly.

It wouldn't do for her to lose her temper in such a public place. The gossip that would surely follow would be quite disastrous. "How does Saturday morning sound? Ask that of my brother, shall you? I would make sure to fix up my schedule then."

"Today, Your Royal Highness. He's expecting you right now in his throne room." He informed her urgently. "Come this way. Follow me." Was he ordering her about? Just because he was the head of the king's guard didn't mean he had any right to speak to her that way. This arrogant little — "He's waiting for you. We cannot make him wait for very long. After all, he is the king of France."

"Very well." She lifted her head pointedly at him, chuckling slightly at her misfortune. "Lead the way then."

* * *

"Tomorrow morning?" Anne de Valois gasped in the pure disbelief as she stalked around the throne, again and again, the sound of her shoes tapping quite loudly against the floor. "You expect to head off to the journey tomorrow morning? I thought it had been agreed you would give me at least another week to prepare myself, Francis? You made a promise to me!"

Her older brother by five years, Francis de Valois; the King of France appeared to be greatly anxious due to his behavior. "I do know that I made the promise, sweet sister, but urgent matters have taken place in England. And it because utmost important you head off to London as soon as possible." Anne glared at him demandingly, fully expecting him to state his reasons to her from beginning to an end. "According to the letter the soon to be crowned King of England had sent me, King Arthur had passed away a few days ago. And therefore, they are requesting your presence. England needs a queen now that Queen Katherine is no longer able to keep that position."

"What about Princess Mary? Shouldn't she be the one to sit on that throne?"

"It's a temporary arrangement, darling Anne. Right until Princess Mary comes to the age." But even then, she knew, it was highly unlikely that Mary would sit on that throne. England needed a man to sit on that throne. And King Arthur had no son of his own to be able to play that specific role given to him. Henry would sit on the throne until something happens that would force him off the throne. "But that isn't what is important here. You are going to be a queen of England now. And that, my darling sister, I am afraid is more than good enough of a reason to start packing right now."

She was going to become a Queen? Anne cared not for being a princess, but being a Queen was another story altogether. There were things she couldn't accomplish when was a princess that she now could be given the new development in her life. Anne let herself to smile willfully at her brother, lifting her head up proudly. "I'll tell Mary to start packing up my things." She assured him. "We'll head off the first thing in the morning.


	2. Two

January 21, 1517

Fontainebleau, France

Charles Brandon had been Henry's best friend for what felt like his entire life. There wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't do for him. Including going all the way to France to escort Henry's future wife back to London, it seemed. The things he did for love and the duty.

"Your Majesty." He bowed gracefully upon her arrival and somehow found himself meeting the striking blue eyes of Anne de Valois that glanced back at him with a fierceness he couldn't simply describe with words alone.

Henry had described Anne to be quite a pretty little thing. But with the graceful way her long dark hair fell down her shoulders and the way her full, red lips curled into quite a mischievous smile, Anne de Valois was simply a beauty.

For a short, shameless moment, Charles let himself to feel a sting of a jealousy at his best friend's fortune — always the second next to his royal grace, if even that — before he swallowed them back where they belonged as he kissed the pretty little skin of her fragile-looking hands, lifting his head to meet her daring blue eyes once again.

"Shall we?"

Anne de Valois merely nodded her pretty little head in the response as she followed him to the ship that patiently waited for them by the seashore. "Tell me, your grace, what kind of a man is my future husband?" She asked him suddenly, eyes gleaming in the suspicion. Henry's reputation preceded him, it seemed. "Is he graceful and kind-hearted like they say his brother had been? Is he merciful and fair? Does he care for the good men in England? Can he be a good king?"

Can he be a good king? Charles honestly didn't know.

"Your Majesty, there's an absolutely no need for you to worry." For her sake, Charles really hoped he wasn't lying when he told her so. Henry can be quite difficult to predict at the best of the times. "Henry is a good man."

"I think you misunderstand, Your Grace." Anne de Valois gave him a sharp glare from the corner of her eye as they walked side by the side towards their final destination. She seemed unimpressed with him at the moment. "I care not if he's a good man or a husband. I've already resigned myself with the fact I would be forced to spend the rest of my mortal life with him. I only care if he can be a good and fair king. So, tell me before I lose my patience with you, do you think he can rule fair and square?"

He really didn't think he was able to be fair in anything, much less in ruling a country. But as his best friend, voicing such opinions to someone was not within his rights. What was he to do if she suddenly decides to elope because of his thoughtless confession? That simply cannot do.

"I believe him to be."

Anne de Valois merely arched an amused eyebrow at him, the slightest hint of a smile gracing her lips. "You are an awful liar, Your Grace." And then she stalked away with a dramatic huff, leaving him speechless to the point he was gaping open-mouthedly at her before he finally had the grace to realize he was going to be late if he didn't move his bloody legs and promptly stalked after her with his hands rested gracefully behind his back, a firm line on his face.

There was nothing else he had to say.

London, England

For most of his life, Henry Tudor had lived in the shadow of his older brother whom he may have loved very much — gentle and noble Arthur who could never do a single wrong thing in his entire life; always the favorite son —

but at the same time, he had loathed him to the core just as much. But Henry was the fucking King of England now — something in all his years of having always been placed in the second place next to his perfect older brother he had never thought to be within the possibility — and that meant a change in every part of his life. He would show them exactly how much of a better king than Arthur he could be — always merciful, always fair to the point it had driven him mad some days when he was forced to put up with all of his boneless ruling on the throne — and they would just love him to the core. They would worship him. After all, why wouldn't they? He was Henry fucking Tudor.

"Henry."

It was Katherine who was smiling at him with quite a tired look in her dark eyes — Katherine of Aragon whom he had loved so much as a teenage boy during the time he was forced to come terms with the fact that he was to wed not a princess like his own perfect older brother, but a daughter of some count in France — as she walked towards him with Mary in her arms, holding the one-year-old little girl tightly around her arms as if she were afraid with one wrong move, Mary would fall down the ground. Henry resisted the urge to call up someone to get the little girl off her arms. He had a strange feeling she wouldn't thank him for it if he dared to do such a thing.

"Katherine."

Here was the thing about them. Even when he had been a foolish teenage boy whose only interest relied solely on his curiosity of the wondrous things he would discover beneath the open legs of the girls — and sometimes, married women — he would find around the court, she had always been Katherine to him.

Just Katherine.

Never anything else.

And even Katherine with her sunshine-like smiles that managed to brighten up his days like nobody else, had always belonged to his brother from the first time they had met.

Nobody he truly had wanted was ever his to have. Nobody except Anne de Valois whom he had met that one time when he was a small child — he mostly remembered distrusting blue eyes glaring at him in the wild suspicion as she hid behind her dark-haired brother's back — whom he had never even wished for, anyway.

But when you were born into a family much like his own, it never mattered what you wished for.

"Henry, how are you feeling nowadays? I don't think I've had the chance to ask since the funeral." Oh yes, the funeral. In which he spent the entire time just angry and confused at his brother for leaving them — well, mostly him behind. But at the same time, sort of glad his brother had died, opening a route for him to take the throne. Which probably made him into a very awful person, but honestly speaking here, Henry just didn't fucking care. One didn't need to be a saint to be a good king. "With the marriage and all."

Henry merely gave her one polite smile, if only to ease her nerves. She'd had enough to worry about those days without adding his problems to the plate. "I am fine," he said. "You do not have to worry about me, Katherine."

Katherine grinned teasingly at him. "I've heard she's very pretty."

Henry shot her a particularly annoyed look from the corner of his eye. He really didn't have time for all of this. "And I am fairly certain I do not care, Katherine."

"She's going to your wife very soon, Henry." She reminded him pointedly. "I rather think you ought to care even a little bit. She's going to be lost here in this foreign country. You have to show her at least some care. Don't you try abandoning her at the first chance you get."

She knew him far too well.

"Of course not, Katherine. What kind of man would I if I were to treat a fair lady like Anne de Valois so cruelly like that? Believe me, sweet Katherine, I would try my best to treat her as she deserved to be treated. Like a Queen." He then caught an eye of a very particularly pretty looking little thing by the garden smiling at him and his wishes to spend any further time with his sister-in-law resolved into pure nothingness. "Now, if you would excuse me, Katherine. I have important matters I have to attend." And then he followed the red-haired girl into the court, leaving Katherine all alone by herself with only Mary there to accompany her.


	3. Three

Anne de Valois wasn't a particularly patient woman. She would begrudgingly admit to that singular fact. She hadn't been even when she was a small child. Much to the further disappointment of her lord father who had tried and tried to install the much-seeked patience inside her. Therefore, it really wasn't much of a surprise when a few days after she had departed from the Parisian shore on the royal ship her future husband had bestowed upon, she found herself feeling undeniably impatient. So much that it seemed that having the duke as a company started seeming like a positive occasion. Wonders never ceased.

For, before a few days ago, she wouldn't have even considered spending a minute in his company. He was far too quiet. Reminded her far too much of her impending future. Far too distracting for her likeness. Not that she had been complaining about that particular fact those past few days. Besides, it was better than having to listen to her lady-in-the-waiting go on and on about her family back in England. Much better.

"So, you've been friends with my future husband for what, since you both were little boys?" It should be useful to know as much about him as possible.

"Since we were seven-years-old boys, Your Majesty."

Anne frowned deeply in the fact, not liking the formality of his speech in the slightest. "You are my future husband's best friend. And from what I've heard, his most trusted servant." She touched the hem of his dressing sleeve with the tip of her fingers, a coy smile spreading all over her pretty face. "I rather think you are more than worthy enough to call me by name, Your Grace."

Charles Brandon seemed to consider it for a while before he took her small hand in his own with a hesitancy that seemed to excite her to the core. "If only you call me Charles, Anne." Anne merely gave him one wide smile in the response as she gulped down he red wine down her throat, entangling her fingers with his own somewhat purposefully.

"It's a promise."

* * *

Francis de Valois had loved women for his entire life. When he nothing more than a teenage boy with a father who expected to see nothing more than a pure perfection from his only son and heir, Francis had loved his lady mother and two sisters who meant the world to him even then.

Their mother who had always tried her hardest to protect them all from their father's harsh demeanor, but was simply far too weak-hearted for them all in the end. Margaret who had always tried to seem tough if only to show their father her worthfulness despite her, well as their father often liked to put it so tactfully, unfortunate gender. And Anne who had always been keen on acting first before even thinking when angered, but was always far too keen-minded for her own good. He couldn't even imagine what kind of trouble she was getting up to right now. Hopefully, nothing far too huge. He couldn't risk another war with England. And once again, he wondered if he had done the right thing in having given up his beloved sister to Henry, worried if the man would be able to treat her as she deserved to be treated. Like a Queen.

Maybe that was just his distrust of Henry Tudor that was speaking here. Francis wasn't much of a believer when it came to the rumors he had heard, but he also knew there was always at least an ounce of truth in those rumors. And it made Francis feel very much afraid indeed. His sister deserved nothing more than the absolute best, and if Henry Tudor turned out to be exactly what he feared right now, Anne would suffer a great misfortune.

And no alliance was worth his beloved sister's unhappiness.

He would rather have his kingdom fall than have Anne look at him in that way once again, with his mother's tear-filled blue eyes staring back at him in the most heartbreaking way possible.

It had broken his heart. It continued to haunt him still in his nightmares. Anne who had always been quick to smile when she was a child seeming so broken and shattered after what their father had told her in his final breath. The father she had loved and respected so much never once looking at her way in unless he had some use for her to further a familial alliance between their family with another one. The day the late King Henry VII had asked a betrothal between his youngest son and Anne, his father had smiled like a madman. Francis had a sudden urge to murder him right there.

He had just sold his beloved sister to a freaking Englishman. It had been all that a teenage Francis had seen during that time. Their father had sold away his sister's freedom away to English. And it made him feel more angered than anything else. It still did. Mostly because despite his current position, he couldn't find any way to rid her of this annoying predicament.

"She would be just fine. You shouldn't worry so much." Claude told him with a small smile as she stood beside him by the balcony, putting a reassuring arm on his shoulder. "She's Anne, Francis. Your sister is more than strong enough to be able to survive a few Englishmen."

"I do hope you are right, sweetheart." And then, the thought of Anne occupied him no more. For, Claude sent him one coy look and he was done, already making his way back into the bedroom.


	4. Four

January 26, 1517

Anne de Valois had been told quite disbelievable stories by her sister Marguerite when she was a small child. Stories about knights on a mission to rescue the princess in the high tower. Stories about handsome prince to save the princess from a certain doom. Anne had never been much impressed with any of them. Between the two of them, Marguerite had always been the only one that was easily swayed by such stories.

And even now, long after she had become a princess in both the name and the duty she bore for her beloved country, Anne had no expectations for neither of those things. There wasn't going to be any dashing prince or a knight in his shining armor to save her from her fate. She didn't even need saving in the first place. She was going to become the Queen of all England and she wasn't going to regret a single minute of it. For, as the Queen, she could have more chances to help the common people — and she silently added, her own selfish self — in their time of dire need. Besides, as she was to wed the prince — well, the king — who was to save her anyway? There was no knight in the sight. Only a duke. As handsome as he was.

"How many days do you pray we would have to endure on this ship before all of this is over, Charles?" She was so tired of being secluded in this gruesome place, couldn't wait to finally have the freedom to move around the place yet again.

"Well, Anne, if I were to say, at least another week."

Again, she couldn't wait to get it all over with.

January 28, 1517

"My brother George should have turned thirteen this year. And he's the sweetest little thing — well, I've heard he's the sweetest little thing anyway. I haven't had the chance to meet with him yet. But I should hope, he would come to like me. After all, I am his only sister."

"I am most certain he would, Mary. After all, you are so lovely. He would have to be quite mad indeed not to."

People just loved Mary Boleyn. Including her own brother who often had a habit of wandering off someplace she really would have much preferred to not have had any knowledge of.

She didn't quite fancy having witnessed her own lady-in-the-waiting leaving her beloved brother's chamber so abruptly when she was just on her way innocently, doing quite innocent things.

Though, if anybody had asked her, she would've much preferred it if her foolish brother had stayed loyal to Claude, her dearest friend. But she supposed just as one simply cannot change a man's nature.

She prayed — and prayed, she won't have to suffer through the same fate. Though, if the rumors proved to be true, she was probably doomed with thus fate. After all, as her father liked to say, it was a man's right to do whatever he willed.

January 31, 1517

Charles Brandon was a good man. He was also quite a conversationalist once you went through the barriers he had sent within himself. Anne could tell that much within a week or so of having met the man. In another life, had she been born both English rather than French — God forbid! — and as a daughter of a mere nobleman rather than her own father's daughter, he may have been the one she could — would have chosen to be her lawfully wedded husband. But alas, as she was not, she was stuck with Henry Tudor as husband whom she heard so many awful things about in the entire time they've been betrothed.

Anne thanked her heavens — and the late King Henry — for having given her the freedom to stay in France that she had loved so much rather than in England, as should have been expected of her. She knew not how she would've turned out had that been the case.

"Your Majesty — Excuse me, Anne." Charles bowed his head down politely at the sight of her, putting down the book he'd been reading a minute prior in the favor of her. "How may I be of help to you?"

Anne merely smirked. "You play chess?"

Charles's answering grin was an answer enough.

February 11, 1517

Anne de Valois had been quite a small child when she had first met Henry Tudor, the current King of the whole England. He had been rather a tall boy. She remembered vaguely hiding behind her dearest brother's back as his unfamiliar blue eyes gazed down at her, far more suspicious of him than anything else. He had tried talking to her, she remembered, as was expected of him as they were chosen — doomed — to wed. Being as young as she had been, though, she cared naught for his efforts. In fact, she probably would have preferred it much better if he didn't speak to her. She had liked her brother's company much more.

"Your Majesty."

Henry Tudor was a tall man. He also held himself quite proudly with his chin held high, eyes watching her carefully and curiously. There was a slight edge to him however. She wasn't what he had expected. Good. It made her wonder, though, exactly what he had expected.

"We are quite pleased that you have come safely from your trip." Henry Tudor told her. "As would your brother, I believe."

"Of course." She merely smiled at the mention of her dark-haired brother — how she missed him so! — as she waited for him to say anything that could further their discussion. "Would Your Majesty excuse me for the night? It had been a rather tiring trip, I am afraid."

Immediately, Henry added his head in the agreement. "Of course." He said, excusing her from his company with a mere nod of his head. "I would see you tomorrow morning." Thus, she stalked away, leaving the two friends to chat or whatever it was men did when they were reunited.


	5. Five

Anne de Valois was a beautiful woman. There was no questioning that. She had a swan-like neck that seemed to go on for miles, blue eyes that captivated him like very few things ever had done in his life. Furthermore, she was his to have and own. She was to be his wife, to bear his precious little heirs. She was to be his Queen.

For the very first time in his life, Henry Tudor was very glad indeed that it had been this little girl whom his father had chosen for him to marry all those years ago.

"Have you slept well, Princess Anne?" After how abruptly she had taken off yesterday night, Henry wished to get to know her before they were to wed. How well they clicked was a very important part of any marriage, was it not? He would hate to be stuck with a wife duller than a ditchwater. He would really, really loathe that. Fortunately for him, however, Anne de Valois was as beautiful as she was an interesting conversationalist.

There was an odd sparkle in her eye that only indicated a trouble. "Rather too well, I am afraid, Your Majesty." She said. "I may have overslept."

"Well, I always say you should get as much of a sleep as you can while there's still time for such fancies."

There would be none of that once they were married. A Queen can't be seen sleeping like a wild bear during the winter time. It simply wouldn't do any good for their reputation. What would the French say? But then again, he supposed that seeing as she was a French Princess, they wouldn't care much.

"Oh, yes. A Queen has a reputation to uphold. Can't have the people of England thinking ill of me now, can we, Your Majesty?"

"I am afraid not." King was without any power if his own people opposed his every action.

If the people disrespected him at every turn. It was about the time he thought about the kind of a king he wished to be, anyway. Did he wished to be feared or loved? Which one was better? He didn't have an answer. "Well then, Princess Anne, I am afraid I must leave you to your own. I have a rather important meeting with Father Moore and other councilmen quite soon. I hope you won't be too lonely without my company."

Anne smiled, "I'll manage." Then, he stalked out of the dining room and walked away, feeling her piercing gaze on his back even as he left the room.

* * *

Lonely?

Anne de Valois was great many things. She was an excellent dancer, enjoyed playing card games with men. Especially when they lost their temper once they've lost. Now, that was all too much fun to miss on. Definitely a favorite part of the game. But she was definitely never lonely. People always surrounded her. Even the ones she didn't wish to surround herself with.

Like her future husband, for an example.

He was so bloody full of himself. She was surprised he didn't burst from such a big ego. It was to be expected from men like Henry, however. She would have been more suprised if he wasn't such a self-loving, narcissistic — man. She was definitely going to say a man. Definitely not something far too rude for someone of her station to be even thinking about.

Anne de Valois walked through the dark hallways of the palace with a confident smile, greeting maids and likewise with an even bigger, reassuring smile. If she were to have any hope of being the Queen, she needed to be liked. King may make all the important choices in the country, but the people were equally important. There wouldn't be any country to run without the people living in them.

A King was just nobody without his loyal subjects.

She needed them to know they could trust her, to know she would do her absolute best to make their lives as comfortable as possible.

And well, if people had certain prejudices against her because of her French origins — it was rather silly — they would just have to learn how to get over them. They wouldn't have any other choice.

Because they would adore her. And even if they didn't, as long as they didn't get in her way, that sat just fine with her. "Charles?" It was Charles Brandon who was still deliciously charming even from such a distance. Charles turned towards her with a sharp turn of his head and bowed his head slightly at the sight of her, making her frown tiny bit at his forgetfulness.

She had thought they had reached a certain understanding between them. Obviously, she had been very much mistaken. "Anne, Charles. I've told you to call me Anne. None of the politeness. We are friends, are we not?" They were not friends. But he was one of the few faces she knew that she didn't wish to strangle. So, until she found a decent companion, he would have to do.

He cleared his throat somewhat apologetically. "Anne, what are you doing here? If I may be so bold to ask, of course."

"I wished to get to know the people. But it seems that you Englishmen are so overly suspicious. You would think I was a wanted murderer by the way they were looking at me."

Charles raised an eyebrow, "And Frenchmen obviously are not?"

"Do you really think I would be speaking to you about this if I thought so?"

"Hmm, true that."

"Anyway, I need you to accompany me to the gardens. My dear beloved is busy with his meetings and therefore cannot accompany me. A rather unfortunate thing, really. I would have liked to know him. But since you are his most trusted friend, surely he would allow you to do so in his place instead?"

Charles seemed to think about it for a moment. And then, "Right this way, Anne."

* * *

Katherine Tudor had been selected to marry the late King Arthur — Arthur like in the old legends, except he certainly didn't have a cheating wife — when she was but a little girl.

People had told her what an honor it was to marry the future King of England. She didn't believe them one bit. Why would she wish to marry a complete stranger — and an English one at that — when she could have wed anyone in her own country if only her parents saw her way. But they never did. In the end, it was best they had not.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have met her beloved Arthur and wouldn't have had Mary as unfortunate her gender may be to some.

"Your Majesty." A rather small, dark-haired girl was accompanied by Charles. She smiled pleasantly at them, and bowed. "Princess Mary." She put a beaming smile on her face, her entire face brightening like a morning sun. "It's wonderful to finally meet you both. I've heard so many good things about you both from my brother, Francis."

She must be Princess Anne then.

She may have encouraged Henry to try giving the girl a chance, but honestly speaking here, she pitied the girl for having to be stuck with him. As much as she may love him, Henry had an attention span that of a very short-tempered toddler. A toddler with a great amount of power, of course. It would be the best for England if Mary were to sit on the throne than her man-child of an uncle. And for that to happen, she needed the people necessary to support her in her claim.

Just because she was a little girl didn't mean she couldn't rule as well as any man can.

"Princess Anne."

"I was just telling his Grace that this is simply the most beautiful garden I have ever seen. I must simply congratulate whoever had dedicated such a great work to it."

Charles stayed quiet the entire time. He did, however, watch her very carefully for any reaction.

"I shall put the word to Mr. Watson then, Princess Anne." Princess Anne beamed wider at that, and nodding her head to Charles, bid them goodbye and followed Charles out of the garden. Catherine watched them go with a concern, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble getting her nose in their affairs.

If she were to be stuck with Henry, she should at least have a friend she could rely on. And if that was Charles, then it was her choice.


	6. Six

Six

February 30, 1517

London, England

Here was the thing her future husband apparently didn't seem to understand about her, Anne absolutely adored attending parties and balls. She had grown up around those. It would be hard not to be when one's brother had those as much as he did sleeping with various types of women around the court. Not that she was claiming he understood anything at all about her.

Now, that would be just ridiculous. From the past days she had spent in his presence, Anne understood he thought there were only two things a woman was good for; to sleep with and to bear a child, preferably a boy.

Curse her luck.

She had been trying to avoid men like her father all her life, and it seemed that despite her best efforts, she had gone and found one exactly like her late father. On the surface, Anne knew it wasn't something she probably should do — after all, her children were going to become the future kings and queens of various kingdoms if she could help it — but she really pitied them for having to be stuck with a man like Henry as their father. It really wasn't an easy life to live, Anne knew from the experience.

When one was a woman, men like Henry were forever trying to prove in how many ways you were lesser than them.

Anne really hoped she won't lose her temper one day — Francis did always say it was her greatest weakness — and lose her head in the process. Not that he could actually behead her, of course, without declaring a war on France. That would be just laughable.

"Anne?"

It was Mary Boleyn, who was looking at her with rather wide, excited eyelashes. Anne looked suspiciously at her quite pregnant belly, and grinned at her friend widely. It really was a wonder how Francis had failed to knock up the woman despite how many times she had caught them in a rather inappropriate position somewhere in the court — "You are the King, Francis! Not some hormonal teenager!" — and it was Henry whom Mary had only met weeks before, that had managed to finally knock her up.

She wondered how exactly Mr. Boleyn was going to handle this particular, scandalous situation. Because if Henry didn't knowledge the child as his bastard, the child wouldn't have a pretty future ahead of him.

There were difference between being the King's bastard, and being somebody else's bastard, even if that somebody was a lord. The King's bastard was respected, at least as much as a bastard possibly can, given the society's harsh standards. "Mary, how are you feeling?"

Mary blinked at her confusedly, batting her eyes quite innocently. "I'm feeling fine, Your Highness." She said. "Why do you ask?"

"Call it a woman's intuition." Mary glanced suspiciously at her as she bit her lips hard and Anne couldn't help but smirk as she put on her mask on her face, and signaled Mary to open the doors for her. "You might want to avoid dressing in such clothes, sweetheart, if you don't wish for people to start talking. It's rather obvious." She would have to deal with the woman later on. Loved him or not, a bastard could prove to be quite a huddle in her way when she became the Queen. And she couldn't afford to have any complications. Not when there was so much at the stake, anyway. Anne lifted her head high in the air, and stalked away, leaving a very worried Mary Boleyn in her wake.

* * *

His life wasn't always like this. Before he befriended Henry, his days were usually spent with his mother or somewhere in the family library, his nose buried in a book. Not hiding somewhere in the masquerade, lest Anne come finding him like a troublesome princess she was.

Those days used to be quiet, and it was exactly the way he had preferred them. But most of all, he had been happy. And then his mother had died and King Henry had made him his ward out of the pure generosity of his heart, which had ended in him befriending the young Prince Henry. Probably because nobody else would have befriended him otherwise. Because a teenage Henry?

If Anne thought Henry now was an awful person, she should have met him when he was a teenager. She would have run from the pure horror.

"What in the heaven's name are you doing here, Charles?" Charles didn't know why in the world the Princess thought she wished to befriend him. For all she knew, he could be plotting her murder. Though, to be completely fair, he didn't quite understand why Henry did all those years ago either.

"Hiding."

Anne seemed quite unimpressed by his behavior. "I do have eyes, Charles. But that's not what I was asking. I was wondering why in the world you were hiding when there's a masquerade happening inside those doors."

"What are you doing here?"

Anne glared at him.

And then there was a completely silence when neither party spoke. And then, "I was hiding from those women." He said. "They seem to think just because I'm an unmarried and a Duke, they're free to drive me crazy with all of their insane pondering." He turned to Anne, "Now, it's your turn. Why are you here?"

"Henry." Anne rolled her eyes dramatically as if the very thought of Henry was enough to drive her insane. "He knocked my lady-in-waiting up. Now, he's eyeing like I'm some delicious prize to be won. Normally, I wouldn't have stood such a behavior from any man, but I'm not in France anymore. I cannot afford to get on his bad side. He may be a complete fool, but he's a fool with an enormous power. One wrong thing, and I would endanger everything I worked so hard for those past few weeks. And I cannot have that. People are depending on me to behave." Anne took a deep breath under her throat and turned to him with a mischievous smile he couldn't quite bring himself to fully trust, "Charles, would you be willing to go inside and dance with me?"

Charles glared. "Absolutely not." He said. "You are trying to throw me to the wolves, and I won't have it."

Anne batted her pretty little eyes innocently at him, feigning an ignorance. "Throw you to the wolves?" She asked. "But it's just Henry. Surely, he won't behead you for dancing with a friend."

A friend?

Right.

"No."

Charles didn't know how she had done it, but she had somehow convinced him otherwise despite his best efforts, both of them circling around the floor left and right as the music's tune dropped and lifted. "Charles —,"

"Anne, why do you even go seeking me out so often? Shouldn't you be over there, trying to play mind games with him?"

Anne laughed as if she thought there was no need to even try with him, as if she thought it was all very hilarious. "Because you are my friend." She said. "And I trust you more than I do those people that surround me around the court."

Charles glared. "That's not much."

"Well, if you wish to gain my complete trust, you would have to earn them, don't you think, love?"

He considered her words for a minute. "That's fair."

Anne lifted her head at him, a hopeful look in her eye. "But would you?"

"No."

She was already more than close enough with him on the daily basis. He didn't wish for her to occupy even more of his precious time. It wasn't just something he wished to endanger his head for. A Princess she may be, but Henry would have his head if he even suspected there was something going on between them.

"Why not?" She pouted, managing to look quite like a child who had failed to get her way. "Come on — it would be fun."

He growled in the annoyance, "I'm not playing those games with you, Anne."

"Well, that's really too bad for you, Charlie. Because you don't have any choice. The game had already began." She grinned at him as she backed away, curtsying slightly at him before she stalked away with a wide grin. "Shall we see who shall win the game?"

The wedding was only two weeks away.


	7. Seven

Seven

March 10, 1517

London, England

_In her dreams, Anne was as young as she was naïve. Following her father around like an annoyingly loyal dog, there for every step to the way. Because you see, despite what her older siblings may think of the man, Anne had adored her father. _

_For her, there was nobody nobler and more royal; he was the only fairytale prince she would ever need. But as dreams were often were, her reality was shattered and stomped upon when she'd finally came to accept the fact that her father would never even think to treat her the same as he did Francis, would never regard her the same. _

_Because for him, she was a stupid little girl with stupid little dreams and hopes that could never be fulfilled as long as she lived in this man's world that shunned her away because of her gender. _

_"It really is rather unfortunate you've been born a woman, eh?" Her father's dying words rang in her head, clear as the day she had heard them. "A pity, really. You would have made a fine boy."_

Anne de Valois awoke with a start, blue eyes glaring hard at the ceiling above her room, and Anne sat up straight on the bed, struggling to breathe. She really loathed feeling this way, being affected so even long after he was gone. She should have been way over her bitterness when it came to that man, after all.

For, ten years was a long time and she wasn't the same stupid little girl who got hurt by every little careless thing her father told her, never caring a bit about how they made her feel like. Which was awfully shitty, by the way. "Your Highness?" It was Mary Boleyn looking up at her with a concerned look on her face, and the bump on her bodice was even more apparent than ever.

"I'm fine." Anne shrugged the other woman's concerns away, as she had done the concerns she had about the whole marriage she was about to commit herself into just a few days later — if he had already gotten someone pregnant despite knowing full well she may not react positively to an infidelity, then who was to say how many women he would knock up during their marriage?

Alright, fine, maybe she would have been fine with it because, first of all, she's a French royalty who was used to having men claiming it was their right as a man to stray and second of all, she's not a complete fool.

She knew full well what would become of her were she to complain about his womanizing ways. But that wasn't the point! The point was her future husband was a womanizing asshole, and she wished for nothing more than to return back home to France. But she had her duties as the princess and they meant she wasn't going to give up so easily like that. It didn't mean, however, she had to be miserable all the time.

If Henry could play around, who was to say she couldn't? It wasn't like he would try to banish her for a simple flirtation now, could he? Anne stopped in her tracks for a second, considering. Would he? Well, she supposed, the game had already began and it was far too late to change anything now. If Henry even tried to punish her for having fun, well, he would be quite a fool to think she would ever let him.

* * *

"Your Majesty, Queen Katherine." Ambassador Mendoza bowed, polite as always. "You're looking as beautiful as always, if I may say so, Your Highness." His face twisted into one giant smile and he asked, "How is Princess Mary?"

"Mary is just fine. She's a rather quiet child, as you may know." And Katherine gave him a stern look, "And how many times do I have to tell you, Inigo? I am a Queen no more. It shall be a treason to call me otherwise. And I rather do not wish for my dearest friend to lose his head."

Inigo merely shook his head stubbornly. "For me, Your Highness, you shall always be a Queen. It matters not what any silly Englishman tries to say. There can never be any better Queen than you? How can that silly French girl could ever hope to compare to you?"

"You flatter me, Inigo." She then lifted her head at him and asked, "So, is there a way we can possibly install Mary on the throne?" Of course, she could await until she was old enough to rule but Katherine feared it would be fat too late by then.

"Of course, Your Majesty." He said. "If that silly little girl was to get into an accident, let's say a carriage accident, who's to say your brother-in-law can be considered a true King? King Francis wouldn't just let the death of one of his beloved sisters stand by. He shall want a revenge, and England would have a need for a new ruler."

Katherine considered it for a moment. "Can you do it?" She was saddened by the death of an innocent little girl, but it was a necessary loss for the greater good. And for her, nothing was more important than having her daughter to sit on the throne.

* * *

Anne walked side by the side with Charles through the busy streets of London, more than happy to be out of the castle. The court life was getting far too tiring for her. Anne didn't know how she could ever hope to live like that. It seemed like a nightmare. Those Englishmen with their constant stares, strange customs that didn't make any sense to her whatsoever and the people who seemed so cold to her that it ached every time they brushed away her efforts to socialize as if she didn't matter, as if she was nothing.

"Are you quite certain you do not wish to return to the court, Your Highness?" Charles asked, and Anne bit down a feeling of unease that settled within her by the mention of her official title. Though, of course, Anne knew why he couldn't call her by her given name out here. People listened. People watched. And the smallest of the rumors can be enough to end a man.

"Of course not, Charles. I thought I was going to suffocate by the court life. I am glad I am out of there." They walked side by the side in a comfortable silence, this mundane act enough to make her happy, and when the rain started to pour, raindrops falling down on her head, they were quick to seek for a shelter. And standing by his side in the small, almost empty shop, Anne felt like an ordinary woman for what felt like the first time in her life. Anne decided she liked the feeling.

"How long do you think it's going to pour, Charles?"

Charles shrugged. "I don't know. Could be hours, could be minutes." He turned his head at her, "Why, are you in a hurry to leave? Didn't want to be stuck with me?"

"On the contrary, Charles, I am glad to be stuck here with you." And she wished more than anything else, everyday could be like that.

Charles gulped anxiously at her words and seemed to lean in close to her as if he were going to kiss her on the lips right there and then, but the magic spell was broken and he pulled away, a small, tight smile on his face. "Oh, look, it's almost done pouring." He said. "Are you ready to head back to the castle?" And for the first time in ever, Anne wished she was ordinary.


	8. Eight

Eight

March 15, 1517

If Anne de Valois was the sort of the woman who had spent her days fantasizing about handsome princes (for your information, Henry Tudor wasn't in any way a handsome prince) or shining knights in the armors, she already would have suggested the notion of running away together to France to Charles. But that simply wasn't who Anne was. Doing such a thing had a possibility putting her beloved France in a danger, and she would rather throw herself off the highest tower than have France at yet another war. Her people had suffered enough. She wouldn't be a cause of their pain. No, she wouldn't allow herself such a selfish thing regardless of how much her heart seemed to ache at the thought of him. And from what she knew from him, Charles wouldn't either. He was a man of a duty, and he would do his duty without a question. As she would. If not for them both, then for France.

"Anne," Henry called from his side at the carriage, as the open carried them back and forth the city to show them off like pretty antique pieces of an art. "Have you met my sister-in-law, Katherine? She's a very remarkable woman." Henry talked as if a man in love. Oh, my. Who would have thought? If only King Arthur had known.

"I've had, Henry. And I must say, she seemed like the most graceful and gentle-hearted woman I have ever met." And she didn't trust her. Not a bit. She had a bad feeling about the woman.

Anne smiled at Henry gracefully, and seeing as Henry seemed to appreciate the comment, she idly wondered if he knew that if she had been a stupid little girl that had spent mooning after her betrothed like so many would have, she wouldn't have liked to hear the awe-stricken way he talked about the woman. She could already feel their marriage being such a pitiful excuse of one. How would she possibly live?

And then, almost as if a scene from the many theater plays she had attended to with her brother Francis before she came to England, a bullet almost struck her eye, missing merely by an inch. Anne stood frozen in the shock, staring at the space the bullet had stroke with a wide, fearful eyes and when she finally seemed to find her voice, she screamed on top of her lungs, tears falling down her eyes. "What are you all doing?" Henry roared in the anger at his guardsmen. "Find the culprit!"

And then, he was at her side, hugging her lovingly in the way she most definitely needed at the moment, even if it came from someone like Henry. Before she even it, she found herself hugging him back, her arms around his broad shoulders. "I was so scared, Henry. I was — they're going to catch him, right?"

Her lips trembled, her entire body shook. She was in such a state she hadn't even registered it when Henry leaned down to kiss her on the lips, as a way to comfort her. "You have my word, Anne." He said. "Everything's going to be just fine."

* * *

Usually, Charles didn't really like the duty of the torture being left to him. It always left a somewhat bitter taste in his mouth. But this one case was different. They had attacked, tried to end Anne. Anne who was as sweet as the summer rose, who always sook him out to talk as if they were the best of the friends. Anne whom he had come to cherish quite deeply with all of his heart and — he daren't finish the sentence. It would be a treason. He would just have to make sure that the swine suffered greatly for causing her such a pain.

* * *

Henry Tudor was in a bitter mood. "Well then, Charles, have you found exactly who had tried to go after my beloved in the broad daylight?"

Charles gulped down his throat anxiously. He didn't seem to be satisfied with the result of his torture. "He didn't know, Henry." He merely said. "He told me as he's a professional assassin, many seek him out through the letters and even when they do seek him out in person, it's quite rare he would see their faces."

Henry rose from his seat, threw the wooden chair that was sitting nearby his desk to the wall, just close enough to scare the other man off. "She's mine. And someone tried to take her away from me! Even if it kills you, find out! You understand?"

Charles gave him a look that clearly said, _don't you dare loose your bloody temper with me. I understand that you are upset, but I also happen to have a lot of blackmail material on you, mate. _"Understood." And then, after he was gone, he threw the table to the wall.

* * *

"His Grace, Duke of the Suffolk, Your Highness." Mary Boleyn announced, "Shall I let him in?"

Anne nodded her head weakly at the woman and when Charles strode inside her chambers, Anne threw herself into his arms and burst into the tears, hugging him around his neck tightly. "Charles, I was so afraid!" She cried. "I didn't know what to do, didn't know what to feel. Why would someone go after me? I am not even the Queen yet." Something clicked in her mind and she pulled away from Charles, thinking. "Someone doesn't want me to become the Queen." She looked up at Charles, more than anything else wishing to plead with him to elope with her. "Charles, have you found who tried to kill me?"

Quite bitterly, Charles shook his head. "They didn't know who had sent them." He said. "But I hope a further investigation would help me to find the culprit."

"So, you've reached a dead end?"

Charles nodded his head. "And I am ordered by the King to find the culprit by whatever the means." He said. "But in the meantime, the man who had tried to end you today, shall be hanged tomorrow morning."

Anne stared. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"It seems that Henry had become rather fond of you, Anne." His voice was broken, and more than anything else, Anne wished to kiss his pain and soothe him the only man in her heart would be him, to tell him how much she adored him. But alas, that wasn't meant to be. Therefore, Anne merely found herself nodding her head.

She shouldn't have hugged him so carelessly earlier. Good thing they were alone in her chambers. If they weren't, the consequences of such actions would be disastrous. A simple flirting was just fine. Innocent. But an actual physical touch? That was crossing a line. "Henry had written a letter to your brother earlier today." He said. "We shall expect him sometime very soon." And with that, he left her alone in her rooms, crying herself to the sleep.

* * *

"You've failed." Katherine spoke to Ambassador, narrowing her eyes disappointedly at him. "You've failed to kill a single, helpless little girl. What do you have to say about your failure?"

"Let me try again."

"Try again?" She laughed bitterly, shaking her head regretfully. "There was only one chance before the marriage. Now, Henry would guard her even more securely. There's no way around it."

"Your Majesty —,"

"Out with you." She snapped, losing her temper for a moment. "I want to be alone." And then, when it seemed that he was gone, Katherine made up a plan. Well, if she couldn't trust him with it, she would just have to do all the dirty work herself, won't she? Besides, Henry would never suspect her, unless someone pointed to her straight. And well, if she played her part right, why would they? She would just have to wait a little bit time before she reenacted her plan.


	9. Nine

March 17, 1517

Paris, France

It wasn't a particularly easy to get Marguerite Valois angered. But if anything could do it, it was the near assassination of her beloved sister.

"She should have been safe!" It wasn't like her act like this, to scream and to yell at her brother, at her king. But as much as she had tried, Marguerite couldn't contain the anger she felt within. "You promised me she would be safe! They would protect her, you've told me. Well, where is that protection? Anne almost died, Francis! Don't you think it's the God's way of telling us this match is not meant to be?"

"Look, I am feeling as angered as you, dear sister," She resisted the urge to snort at that.

If he did feel this way, he would be dragging Anne from that hellish country of Englishmen. She knew nothing good would ever come from consorting with those people. They were bad news, that was what her Mama had always told them, all of those bastards. "But it's a very complicated situation we have here, Marguerite. I cannot just drag her away screaming. She's bethrothed to the King of England, not some lowly noble. Acting rashly could cost us an entire war. And as much as I wish I could say damn it all, I am a sovereign now. Before anything else, even before that of my family, I have to look at the interests of my people first. We can't go through another war, Marguerite."

Marguerite felt herself collapsing on her knees in front of her brother, her face falling down. "She's our little sister, Francis. If we can't protect her, who will? Certainly not those Englishmen. Look at what a fine job they did!"

"We have to trust them, dearest sister." Francis spoke tenderly as he took her hand in his own and grasped it in the assurance. "We have to. We don't havr another choice."

London, England

The wedding had been pushed back for another two weeks due to the accident days before. Anne didn't mind. After all, if they were willing to let her have her freedom before she would be forever tied to Henry, who was she to complain? Her only problem was that it seemed as if Charles was avoiding her. It made her heart ache in the greatest way possible. If she couldn't have him even as her friend, how would she ever survive in this place?

"Anne, you seem troubled. Is something the matter?" Catherine asked, all pleasant smiles and comforting manners. It was really suspicious. Anne didn't trust her when the older woman had asked her for a tea earlier (it would've been impolite to refuse, regardless of how much she wished to) and she didn't trust her now.

From an experience, Anne knew that nobody was that nice. She hadn't lived in the royal court for nothing. She knew how those women worked, knew they shouldn't be trusted. "Just a trouble sleeping, I am afraid, Your Grace." She pointedly said the last word with much enthusiasm as possible.

Nobody who had been a Queen would like being demoted to a mere Duchess very much. She knew she wouldn't have. Maybe she was playing with fire here, but if Catherine thought she would just let her bully her around, she had another thing coming.

Catherine's face twisted into a rage before she replaced it with a smile. "You poor thing." She cooed, making Anne feeling like slapping her across that smug face. "Of course you don't. Somebody had tried to murder you. I always wonder how some people can be capable of such a cruelty."

Anne bit her tongue. She knew speaking out of her turn to the queen dowager would only cost her an unnecessary trouble. Instead, Anne merely smiled pleasantly at the woman, "How's Princess Mary?"

She did feel for the little princess. She was only the next in the line until a male heir came along. But if she couldn't have the freedom she longed for, it was only fair she would get some of the power here.

Her son would become the King, while Princess Mary would have to fight her way to the throne. There was no other way around it. It was simply how the world thy lived in worked.

"She's very well." Catherine smiled, her smile as poisonus as a snake venom. "Tea, Princess?"

She shook her head. "I am afraid I cannot, Your Grace." Did she think her a fool? Who knew what she had put there? "Healer's orders." She then jumped to her feet, putting an effort not to seem as if she was trying to escape from her grace's tight grasp. "Now, Your Grace, I am extremely apologetic having to leave, but I really do have to meet Henry." And then she stalked away, breathing a sigh of relief.

It was Anne with her sunshine like laugh, long raven hair that seemed to go for hours and face that seemed to lift his days up like nothing ever did before. She was walking side by side with Henry right there by the garden and Charles forced himself to look away.

Harboring a tourch for a woman that would never be his was just a madness. And Charles was anything but stupid. Charles knew his duties and limits very well.

It would be wise to stay away from the Princess as much as possible from now on. Charles knew that far too well. Only, it seemed that during small moments like these, his heart didn't wish to listen. It really was a good thing he never acted on his heart alone, but also on his brain. He would've been a dead man already if he had. But for a brief, single moment, Anne's sky blue eyes caught his own from across the hallway and it seemed as if she was about to speak, about to move towards her before she forced herself to look away, to turn towards Henry.

Even when he knew he shouldn't feel this way, Charles's heart seemed to break at the action as she forced himself to turn away, away from the danger she posed to him. She wasn't a trouble he needed in his life. It would be best if he focused on his work and duties instead regardless of how difficult he seemed to find it. Henry wouldn't thank him for stealing away his future Queen.


End file.
